


Rise Up and Take the Power Back

by Tilperiel



Series: Silver & Gold [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Back to Middle-Earth Month, Back to Middle-Earth Month 2019, Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 09:26:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17999207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tilperiel/pseuds/Tilperiel
Summary: The minutes before Fingolfin rides against Morgoth.Written for B2MEM Bingo Day 4Card #179: O72 Rise Up and Take the Power BackSilver & Gold Verse Compliant





	Rise Up and Take the Power Back

Four hundred years. Four hundred _sun years_ , he thought with a resentful twist of his lips in a smile, that failed to reach his eyes as he looked up towards the sky. Anor high above and bright, although no warmth from her reached the ground. At least not much; not when the cold winds that howled through the pass had him squinting against their drying chill. 

It would have been nothing in Aman. A blink of an eye. Not even considered long enough to come of age for one of his children. Children who now wore bright armour and bared teeth. Children who dealt in death, one of whom already gracing Namo’s halls, the bitterness of it causing him to tighten his fist at his side, nails digging hard into flesh. 

Before him on the near horizon black smoke still drifted, thankfully down breeze, not that it stopped the scent of it to still linger. Would likely forever more. Acrid and cloying and causing him to swallow hard even now, even at just a memory. He wrinkled his nose and turned away.

It was quiet where he stood. Too quiet by half. There should have been voices. There should have been shouts. A sea of white canvas spread out before him, but all the noise was of flapping tent doors and the occasional hushed voice or stifled sob that carried back. They would take their grief and it would pass and there would be life again. The host was diminished, but they were strong. He knew this, but for how long? 

It didn’t matter. Not while **He** still laughed at them.

He hated the quiet, but his own head was loud enough to compensate.

Clamouring. Demanding recompense. 

**_Enough!_ **

He strode away and lone voice called out. 

“My horse!” he cried and a flurry of activity as he tightened vambraces that didn’t need tightening.

Shield on his arm and sword at his side he took a breath and held it. Turned towards the mountains and just as he was about to leave a shout and he closed his eyes.

“Father no!”

“Go back, Findekáno.”

“No! I will not! My horse, fetch my horse!”

“DO NOT!” he snarled and the squire trembled, froze. 

There were a hundred things he could have said. Should have said, perhaps? Father and son locked eyes and in the end neither one spoke. There was a nod, a reaching to clasp a shoulder. A single tear. Then he was gone. 

_Forgive me for I know what I do, but I do it anyway. For today we take the power back._


End file.
